


A Day at the Museum

by significantowl



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-09
Updated: 2010-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because it's not a French-approved exit doesn't mean it's not an exit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day at the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> Not true. Fictional characterizations and situations. No disrespect or invasion of privacy intended. Original version posted at kinkme-merlin for the request "Bradley/Colin, trapped."

_Sous la pyramide (Hall Napoléon)_

 

"There are 60,600 square metres in the Louvre," said Colin, the audio tour going in one ear. Big black museum headphones sat askew on his head, the effect hovering somewhere between hilarious, ruffly, and horrifying. How often could those things possibly get a proper cleaning?

"Are there? Lovely."

"That's 652,300 square feet," Colin relayed helpfully.

Bradley had stood in a very long line with a very large group of humanity for a very long time. Spying an enticing-looking rectangle just ahead, he asked, "Know why they call it feet?"

Colin said - well, whatever it was, it was borderline indecipherable, so Bradley slapped on 'polite' and 'interested' translation filters, came up with _Do tell_, and told. "It was based on the size of the king's foot. And I think we should all pause, just pause for a moment, and consider my foot. It is, after all, the closest thing to a king's foot here today."

The pausing took place on black bench warming in the pyramid-refracted sunlight. Students, families, and art lovers passed by in throngs. Bradley held a leg out straight, putting the near-royal foot on full display.

"Impressive," Colin agreed. He gave Bradley a sidelong glance. "So, your heart's really in this."

"Well, it's not like I could let you come down all on your own. Paris is full of red light districts, and artists who paint your picture and then charge you for it if you stand still too long, and pickpockets. Did you know my mother had the tissue picked right out of her pocket in Paris once? She's standing in front of the Eiffel Tour, trying to admire one of their great landmarks, in goes a hand, right, and there's her tissue, gone."

Colin blinked. "I didn't know that, no."

"And the worst part? It was _used._ Because my mum doesn't litter."

It was possible that Colin was taking this all to heart. It was also possible that he was back to listening to his little automated tour friend. Difficult to tell. Bradley sighed, and let his foot fall.

"My foot must be magical, then."

"Oh?" Bradley kicked at Colin's foot a little, consideringly.

"And who knows. Before this is over with, it may just magick itself right up your -"

"Colin," Bradley was loud and shocked, "we are in a revered cultural institution! A little cultural reverence, if you please!"

 

_Peintures italiennes_

 

"You have a very rhythmic sneeze."

"You're meant to be admiring the most famous painting in the world, not going on about how I sneeze."

"It's very high up on the wall, and there are ropes and glass and at least twenty people between us and it," Bradley pointed out. "Also, your sneezing isn't normal. Most people either do one loud sneeze, or a little series of sneezes. Usually in sets of three. But you just do one sneeze, and then ninety seconds later you do another, and then ninety more seconds and then another, and..."

Colin slipped both headphones down over his ears.

"Not normal at _all_," Bradley said.

 

_Antiquités grecques, étrusques et romaines_

 

"The Winged Victory of Samothrace, marble, dating from 190 BC -"

Arms folded, Bradley tilted his head. "Be an even better victory if she'd managed to keep her head, wouldn't you say?"

"Good point, yeah." Colin's eyes crinkled up.

"Winged Oops-That-Could-Have-Gone-A-Bit-Better."

"Winged Hey-At-Least-We-Came-Out-Ahead."

"Nice one," Bradley said, approving.

 

_Antiquités égyptiennes_

 

"Mummies!"

The best part was when Bradley lunged out from behind a sarcophagus and half-caught Colin up between stiff, outstretched arms.

It might even have been Colin's favourite room too; every time Bradley looked at him, he was smiling.

 

_Peintures allemandes, flamandes et hollandaises_

 

"Oh, thank Christ, we've made the top floor."

When Bradley turned, after wiping off the smudges he'd left on the window-glass, Colin and his headphones and his rhythmic head-bobbing sneezes were across the gallery, apparently engrossed in Vermeer.

Bradley watched them, for a while.

 

_Un corridor_

 

"That sign says _sortie_."

"It also says _ne pas_," nitpicked Colin.

"Just because it's not a French-approved exit doesn't mean that it's not an exit," Bradley explained patiently. "If it were an interior door, would they put a sign on it? I'll answer that for you, shall I: no, they would not. They would put a _lock_ on it. But if they can't lock it, they need a sign, and if they can't lock it, it must lead to the outside."

Bradley's hand flirted with the handle.

"You'd rather get arrested for attempted art theft than ask for help with the map. _Achoo_."

Bradley pointed. "It's a mission of mercy. You're allergic to the art."

"No," Colin said, engaging in some wide-eyed, desperate head-shaking. "No, I won't do it, I won't be your accomplice. I can't, I'll crack in court, I'll _crack_ -"

"Oh, like the French will have the first clue what you're saying anyway."

 

_Mésopotamie_

 

"The Code of Hammurabi stands 2.25 metres tall and is one of the earliest and most important legal compendiums. Inscribing the laws meant none accused might plead ignorance."

Bradley squinted at the stone slab, dense with cuneiform. "That had to take some serious chiselling. The Code of Uther, now -"

"Go in around noon, bang out NO MAGIC, down the pub by five?"

"Maybe six," Bradley said. "You know he'd make you go back and add some underscores for emphasis first."

 

_Une toilette_

 

"If I have to pay to use the restroom," Bradley said, after being liberated of his euros by the attendant, "I expect nothing less than a truly amazing restroom experience. I don't think that's too much to ask. You agree with me, don't you, Colin?"

And then, louder, letting the stall that had been opened for him slam shut, "Colin?"

Who didn't reply, on account of being knelt down in front of a marble sink, face upturned under the flowing tap.

"What the hell, Morgan?" Crossing the room in two strides, Bradley tried out a steadying spot of sarcasm, "if anybody was going to try and drown themselves today, I thought odds were on me."

Colin made a wet, snuffling sound before pulling his head out from under the water far enough to say, "'m not. And it's not the art."

"It's not - Go _away_!" Bradley had no use for the attendant, who was stuck on _Monsieur, Monsieur!_ like a broken record, probably more concerned about hair in the sink or possible damage to the headphones around Colin's neck than anything else. Bradley crouched down beside Colin. "So you're allergic to _something._"

Colin shook his head, coming out from under the tap completely. "It's maybe the way they control the humidity for the artefacts and everything? But now," he wrinkled his nose experimentally, "it shouldn't itch so much, see?"

"You _think_ it's the humidity. You _think_ -"

The broken record was back, and up incredibly loud. Bradley pulled Colin to his feet. "Go to the toilet," he hissed in Colin's ear.

"What?"

"_Go to the toilet!_"

And, Colin being Colin, he won the man over with his euros and his smile, and the attendant opened a stall; and, Bradley being Bradley, his timing was impeccable, if he did say so himself, and he barrelled in _just_ when the attendant was too far away stop him and _just_ before the door clicked shut.

"Now," he continued calmly, leaning with all his weight against the inside of the door, "where were we? Yes, I remember. You _think_ it's the humidity, and it's bad enough for you to do things like stick your head in sinks when you _think_ I'm not looking. And _I_ think that I don't know the French for 999, so we're leaving out the next door we can find, no matter what it's got written on it. All right?"

Colin blinked. His face was still wet, his fringe plastered down, his nose red and his cheeks flushed. "It's _neuf neuf neuf_. And all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And" - it couldn't be easy for Colin to avoid looking at Bradley in such an enclosed space, but he seemed to be managing it - "thanks. For coming today. It's been good."

"Really?" Bradley had to speak loudly, thanks to all the angry knocking going on just behind him. "By 'good' do you mean 'very, very annoying?' Are you sure you haven't been wanting to drown _me_ all day, and that out there was just some moment of, of, drowning confusion?"

He'd got the trick of it himself, now - if Bradley tilted his head just slightly, if he let his vision go a little fuzzy, he could wait out Colin's reply without seeing much at all.

"No, Bradley. I'm thanking you, drowning's not usually a way of expressing thanks."

Colin only leant forward a tiny bit, but despite being on the posh side for a public toilet, the stall really _was_ quite small. It all started with a cheek - very _as in France_, Bradley thought wildly - then quickly moved on to ears, jaw, the hollow of a throat; Bradley liked everything, but what he liked best was nudging Colin's lips open for the first time, soft and pink and smiling.

They only managed about forty-five more seconds before the Frenchman stormed the door, but they made them count.


End file.
